


Mutual Admiration

by pikachumaniac



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Crack Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikachumaniac/pseuds/pikachumaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“She’s exquisite,” Q breathes out, and his hands are no longer twisting nervously but making a gesture that James can only describe as grabby. It’s a familiar gesture from when he manages to get Q into bed, but not so appreciated when it is being directed at the madman-slash-James's once brother. "May I...?"</i>
</p>
<p>In which Q has something in common with Franz Oberhauser, much to the horror of everyone around them. James never thought he would have preferred permanent brain damage to this display.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutual Admiration

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this immediately after watching SPECTRE. I regret nothing.

It’s hard to focus, between the pain in his head and the cold bite of metal pinning him down, but somewhere through the blurriness, he sees a mop of black hair and his heart stops. His mind rages, frustrated by how long it is taking him to focus, for him to bring _Q_ back into focus. His Quartermaster is sitting in a chair, hands not bound but primly folded on his lap (although one does not need to be a spy to see the way they twist together in terror).

“Oh good, you’re awake.” His gaze slides away from Q to another familiar face, although it’s one that he thought he would never see again. He wishes that was still the case. “I was just explaining to your Quartermaster how this little contraption works. Quite ingenious, do you not agree?”

“Quite.” Q’s voice is stiff, and it’s clear that he does not agree, rendering it completely unnecessary for him to continue, “Although a bit overly complicated, considering how all you have done is create a glorified way of lobotomizing someone.”

_Lobotomizing?_ That doesn’t sound good at all, and judging from the fear oozing from Q, he has good reason to be worried.

“It’s much more sophisticated than _that_ , Mr. Coulter.” And of course the man knows Q’s real name. He’s proven already that he has eyes everywhere – that little demonstration of M’s farewell speech was particularly telling – and considering Silva’s prior involvement in the organization, the bastard probably has the files of every MI6 employee out there. “But I digress. Now that James has deigned to rejoin us, perhaps it is time for a practical demonstration?”

James doesn’t deign to do anything, but he’s not being given a choice as suddenly he can hear nothing but the truly horrifying sound of a drill. He tries to see what is happening but he’s pinned down as securely as a butterfly staked to a specimen tray, and then it feels like _he’s_ the one being staked through as a drill as fine as a needle enters into his cheek. He knows that moving is only going to amplify the damage, but he finds himself roaring as the agony makes itself known. He’s been shot and left for dead, beaten and tortured, but this – _this_ is a pain unlike anything he has ever felt before. He doesn’t know how he stays conscious through it – perhaps it is the fear of what will be done to Q if he tries to escape by passing out – but it seems an eternity before the drill pulls out, leaving him heaving for air.

“See?” his once-brother says to Q, who is so pale that he looks like a ghost. “I told you it was sophisticated.”

Q swallows, the movement of his throat obvious. Even through the pain, James does not like how Q is leaving his vulnerabilities so exposed to the enemy. But it hurts too much to issue a warning, so he is silent as Q asks, “Why are you doing this?”

It’s hard to concentrate on the words rather than the pain, as Franz launches into the story of all the wrongs done to him by James, and the admission that he killed his father because he felt replaced. It’s a bit pathetic, honestly, but James is in no position to express that opinion, even as Franz drops the grand revelation, the reason why he changed his name to _Ernst Stavro Blofeld_ , and-

“Oh my _god_ ,” Q blurts out, and despite how easily he was drifting into the agony, James’s attention immediately snaps back to him. Is it possible the name means something to his Quartermaster, or perhaps someone is… no, no one seems to be threatening Q right now, but Q isn’t even looking at him, staring instead at something off to his left side. He fights through the pain to open his mouth, to ask what is happening, when Q lets out a loud, admiring _sigh_. “She’s _gorgeous_.”

_She?!_ James wonders if the torture has had an effect other than pain, such as hearing damage or delusions because he is truly confused now. Surely Madeleine would not have come here, not when she (so rightfully) chose to walk away from this world where there were no rules or morals, and he starts to ask why she is here when a streak of white flies by him. But it’s not the silky fabric of a beautiful woman’s gown, so much as-

“You like her?” Franz – _Franz_ , James thinks a bit resentfully, remembering the boy who apparently turned a petty childhood resentment into a terrorist lifestyle – smiles largely. And the answering groan from Q indicates that yes, yes the Quartermaster very much _does_ , as a goddamn cat jumps up into Franz’s lap.

“She’s exquisite,” Q breathes out, and his hands are no longer twisting nervously but making a gesture that James can only describe as _grabby_. It’s a familiar gesture from when he manages to get Q into bed, but not so appreciated when it is being directed at a madman who just so happens to have a bloody _cat_. “May I…?”

“Of course,” Franz replies generously, allowing Q to scoot his chair closer. But rather than take advantage of the closeness to shank the bastard, Q is honest to god stroking the cat’s head, his talented fingers quickly finding the creature’s sweet spot as easily as they found James’s, causing her to purr just as loudly. “It’s not often that people appreciate her as you do.”

“That is a _travesty_.” Q looks downright upset by the idea of not enough people showering compliments on a cat. James wishes he would save some of that upset to the fact that his agent and  _partner_ is strapped to a chair for some light torturing, and then he wishes for that drill to be back in his head as Q says, “Just look at her _fur_. Her grooming is impeccable. How do you manage it?”

“I do my best with what I have.” And suddenly Franz is all false modesty, and it is positively sickening. “But it seems you understand how difficult that is-”

“Be careful,” he interrupts, trying not to sound too grumpy at his plight being ignored. “He killed his father because he didn’t like not being the only child anymore. What will he do to you if he has to compete with you for the affections of his cat?”

Q glares at him, expression as imperious as said cat’s. “It’s not a competition,” he says primly. “It’s mutual admiration for a truly beautiful specimen. Isn’t that right, you lovely thing?”

The last statement is not directed at James.

“Exactly,” Franz agrees, and doesn’t look the least bit offended as the cat suddenly leaps into Q’s lap, curling upwards to nip at his fingers. James is plenty offended on everyone’s behalf though, as Q starts _cooing_ at the creature. “You have a few of your own, I take it?”

“Two,” Q answers, with an eagerness that he usually saves for better things, like the best way of poisoning someone. “I’m afraid they’re not as beautiful as her, but if you would like to see-?” He turns to glare at the henchman (who look just as traumatized as James does, and they’re not even the ones being threatened with permanent brain damage) and snaps his fingers impatiently at them. “My phone, you took it. Give it back.”

The cat yowls, displeased by the lack of single-minded attention. Both Q and Franz immediately look remorseful, and James starts to consider that yes, perhaps brain damage _is_ preferable to this current insanity.

“Get his phone immediately,” Franz orders, and the henchman’s mouth drops open in shock. But clearly he has some self-preservation because rather than argue, he quickly hurries away. Whether it is to do as he was told or to start polishing his resume, James cannot say.

“James doesn’t appreciate them at all,” Q confides sadly, resuming his fondling of the cat. “He even stepped on Buttercup’s tail once, and didn’t even apologize.”

“I did apologize!” he snaps, although not nearly loud enough to prevent him from hearing Franz’s horrified gasp. “I apologized at least a dozen times!”

“You apologized to _me_ , not to _her_.”

He can’t help the low growl that escapes. “I already told you before, I’m not apologizing to a goddamn _cat_.”

“An absolute brute,” Q says to Franz.

“I may be able to correct that,” Franz says, gesturing at the control panel, which is currently displaying a lovely image of the insides of James’s head. Insides that Franz would like very much to rearrange, apparently.

Q huffs, unimpressed with the offer. “You poke any more holes in him, and he’ll be even more clumsy.”

“True enough,” Franz admits, but this time his smile does not reach his eyes. “But you do understand that I still intend to kill him, correct?”

“You do seem the sort to follow through.” Q doesn’t stop his petting of the cat, but James can see the stiffness in his posture as he finally deigns to remember that they are at the mercy of a complete madman. But he covers for it well as he suddenly straightens, pushing his glasses back up before holding out a hand to the henchman that has returned. His phone is placed gingerly into his grasp, and then Franz is leaning over to look at Q unlocks it.

James shuts his eyes, waiting for some sort of controlled explosion or electrical shock of even a goddamn blinding light, but instead he hears, “Oh, they are lovely. Not which one is-?”

“The calico is Buttercup, and this one here is Westley. I was going through a bit of a phase.” Q at least has the decency to sound a little embarrassed by this admission, although it doesn’t stop James from opening his eyes to stare at him incredulously.

“Very nice,” Franz compliments, flicking through Q’s 2,643 picture-long album of cat photos (James knows; he’s been subjected to the slideshow twice before). “She’s better though.”

“I can’t really disagree,” Q says sadly, before abruptly pushing his chair back as far as he can. Franz starts to stand, and the henchman are even faster, drawing their weapons, but none of them are as quick as Q, who flings his phone at the computerized monstrosity next to Franz before flinging _himself_ away.

The explosion rocks the room, and the metal cuffs snap open. James is barely pulling himself up when Q is at his side, looking slightly dazed by his proximity to the explosion, and James has to pull him along as they race away. They leave behind the sound of even more explosions, and James wonder if it’s because Q has set off a chain effect or if there’s something in the phone that has a second detonation. Either way, they have to get out of there, which means James has to focus on what is in front of them rather than what they are leaving behind.

As they emerge into the searing desert heat, they are confronted by heavily armed men. But they are so focused on investigating the cause of the explosion – and the likely termination of their employment – to react to James’s attack, and soon the men are dead on the ground while James is now the one who is heavily armed. It’s a turn of events he likes very much. He uses their weapons with his usual brutal efficiency, pausing only to shove Q behind a barrier before taking aim, killing the men from afar with an accuracy that would make his marksmanship scores weep from joy. He thinks Q must be pleased by that, and when the last man is dead he turns back to Q, expecting a compliment or at least a snarky little remark to cover for the Quartermaster’s admiration.

Instead, he finds himself staring at a white furball in Q’s arms.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he sputters.

“I couldn’t leave her!” Q defends desperately, hugging her close and apparently not noticing that the cat is squirming angrily, taking out her displeasure at all the chaos by digging her claws into his sleeves. “She’s _innocent_.”

“She’s a _cat_ ,” James replies in utter disbelief.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Q grumbles, and he’s right, James doesn’t. But they don’t have time to worry about that as he grabs Q’s upper arm - the one that is not being meticulously shredded open by an unhappy monster - and drags the Quartermaster away to safety.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is completely not based on my own tendencies to coo over other people's cute animals. 'Course not.


End file.
